


On Building Goodwill

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:50:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9500807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After an untoward incident at MACUSA, Newt is indebted to Graves.He doesn't like owing people favors.





	

“Ten extra copies, Ms. Foxworth. I do hope these are enough.”

I placed the stack on the counter and Ms. Foxworth, who had a false peacock feather in her hat and chalk dust on her blouse, looked at the books then at me.

“As always, thank you for your contribution, Mr. Scamander. Your book is closing in on the top of the borrow list, you should be glad.” I smiled. After all, she wanted me to look glad. “I've been meaning to ask you for tips about handling my Kneazle's excess shedding.”

“You can read my book,” I said, still smiling. This time it was a more honest smile. I was always happy to help and my book would do just that.

With nothing more to add, I left her with my books and walked out of the government library.

Rarely did I drop by MACUSA headquarters unless there was something I needed. Conversely, I was consistently being summoned there every time they needed _me_ , which was startlingly often now that my book had been published. Any mishap that had to do with animal, and every auror, secretary or janitor would ask me for help. But the increasing number of owls tapping at the window every morning received the same note that I had taken to rewriting a hundred times on stacks of parchment: _“Read my book”._

I wrote that textbook for several reasons, after all; one of them being so that I could spread information without actually having to talk to people individually, which was a time-consuming and cumbersome activity.

Ms. Foxworth's small talk had cost me precious minutes, so I hurried my way through the lobby at Woolworth. After crossing the revolving door I could apparate to the Goldsteins' and attend to my suitcase. My latest find was a Puffskein that, since its arrival, had somehow multiplied on its own to become an entire colony. Schizogony was not unheard of but an uncommon form of reproduction for an animal in the Fluffy class of beasts (categorized by yours truly), so I was eager to find out what had been the catalyst for its log phase.

Harold the Puffskein's face was already on my mind when someone grabbed my arm. I turned around quickly.

“What?” I said.

It was a man I didn't recognize, but he wore the same uniform as every MACUSA worker. His beard had been unevenly trimmed.

“Mr. Scamander, I found something that might interest you.” New York born and raised, based on the drawling thickness of his accent.

“If it's a problem with a beast I'm afraid I'm short on time and you'll have to check my book—” His grip tightened, stopping me from leaving.

“No, no. A beast. A _fantastic_ beast. Never seen one like it. I need you to come see it.”

It was no surprise that MACUSA itself was home to more creatures than anyone was even aware of. Why, just last month I had helped tracked down the culprit who was eating Picquery's expensive quills: a Demoden, which liked to feast on silver. Prior to my discover Picquery had fired two secretaries suspected of thievery. She was a very paranoid person.

However, people normally described the animal to me first before inviting me to go see it. This time, I tried to emulate Picquery's paranoia. The man was holding me harder than one should and he was very vague, strangely urgent for someone who simply wanted to introduce a beast to me.

But I had my swooping evil in my sleeve so I went with him and pretended to hide my suspicion by smiling.

My mouth was hurting after a while so I stopped smiling by the time we got to the place where he wanted to show me the beast.

We were in the loo.

“Where is it?” I asked, already coming up with a list in my head of possible animals that would reside in the loo. The Numer, which was attracted to any strong odor, was at the top of that list.

But I had a feeling there was no Numer here.

“Well?” I said. The man was standing in front of me.

“Here's a fantastic beast for ya,” he said with a laugh. Then he opened his pants and exposed his penis.

At first I wondered if the beast was attached to the penis. But after glancing at it for a while it looked like any regular male organ. I was confused as to why the man had decided to show it to me. There was nothing to gain for either of us from me seeing his genitalia.

He seemed awfully happy that I was paying attention to it, though.

Before I could comment a gruff voice said behind me, “Explain yourself. Immediately.” I turned and saw Percival Graves, who was also looking at the penis.

“I was just--” The man said, backing away and covering his private parts in front of Mr. Graves. But Mr. Graves closed the distance between them and placed his hand on the man's shoulder and they vanished.

I stood in the loo wondering what had just happened.

Why had the man brought me all this way to show me _that_?

Before I could formulate a proper hypothesis, Mr. Graves had reappeared. He was standing in front of me.

“Newton,” he said. Contrary to popular belief he and I weren't close, so I didn't ask him to call me Newt. I was responsible for being the one to locate him, yes, but beyond the occasional greetings we didn't interact.

I didn't know why Mr. Graves was suddenly talking to me now, why he seemed kind of sad and his voice was not its usual brisk tone.

“Are you alright?” He asked, stepping forward.

“Yes,” I answered, confused by the question. He had seen that the man had not hurt me yet wanted to know about my well-being.

“I apologize for you having to witness that. His behavior was inexcusable so I brought him to his supervisor. He's being fired as we speak.”

'Inexcusable behavior'? The man had merely done one strange act but Mr. Graves was treating it like a serious crime. I made a mental list of possible reasons MACUSA would not tolerate the behavior of this man. Well, he had lied to me, for one. Put me off my schedule by quite a bit. But him showing me his phallus was a random, nonsensical act.

In the process of trying to discern what sort of mental state would trigger this action, I reviewed the event in my head and discovered more details: the man had looked me up and down when he first saw me. He had laughed uncontrollably even though there was nothing inherently amusing about our conversation. He talked about my book, only he didn't actually need it. When he bowed his head to fiddle with his trousers he immediately lifted again and gazed at me for an uncomfortably long time.

He had wanted me to react.

He deliberately _tricked_ me.

Suddenly my shoulders felt heavy.

As a published author and a renowned expert, I thought I was done being tricked by people.

“I suppose I owe you one,” I mumbled.

“Think nothing of it. Have a good day, Mr. Scamander.”

He left the loo before I could tell him that my day could not possibly be considered good, not after my realization. Rather than looking forward to seeing my animals, I was now standing in the same spot listening to the drip of water from a loose faucet. It was strangely calming, which I needed because it was getting hard to breathe.

I had met too many men like that one, who had given me the same looks and spoken to me the same way. They always sought to deceive me and then laugh, for reasons I could never fathom. It's not like I had ever done any ill acts toward them, for it was always people I had never met.

I didn't know why this kept happening to me.

And this time, Mr. Graves had to step in and now I owed him a favor, which made me doubly anxious.

I did not like owing people favors.

The last time I had owed someone a favor, it hadn't worked out so well: Leta had to tutor me personally in Defense Against The Dark Arts. I was rubbish at it. She spent weekends and late nights meeting up with me in empty classrooms.

My favors built up until the day she was almost expelled.

“Didn't you say you owed me, Newt? Please,” she had wept, so I had done the one thing I'd never been successful at: I lied. They believed me, and I left Hogwarts secretly wishing that they hadn't.

Now I owed one to Mr. Graves, and if I didn't find a way to repay it soon on my own terms, he would eventually demand something specific and I would suffer for it.

Like Leta had made me suffer.

But what could I do for Mr. Graves? He possessed power and wealth, and contrary to the constant presence of the scorpion pin on his lapel, he didn't give a damn about animals. There was nothing I could think of that would benefit him and constitute paying back the favor.

My cheeks felt wet and I realized I was crying, so I wiped away the tears and went on my way.

 

* * *

 

Some time ago, this is how I found Mr. Graves:

While approaching the Graves estate, my interest was drawn instead to the house beside it. It was small, but painted a shiny white. However, there were multiple splotches decorating the corners, exposing the original brown finish. This was interesting to me as normally, freshly-painted houses aren't done so in a hurry. It was sloppy work. What was more suspicious was that despite the supposedly well-maintained house, the garden was overgrown with weeds. Lastly, by the drain pipe I spied a hive of Stingennae – it took years for them to create a thriving colony.

I wondered why a man would paint an obviously aging house so hastily, but leave his garden unkempt and his drainpipe pest-filled.

“Who lives there?” I asked one of the aurors. The man looked down at the file at his hand. There was a hangnail on his pinky finger.

“Doesn't concern us,” he said. “Just a no-maj named Mr. Roberts who moved in there recently.”

“How recently?” I asked.

“Look kid, just help us figure out if Mr. Graves is alive or not.”

“He's most likely dead,” I said.

“Gee, thanks for getting our hopes up, bud. Real ray of sunshine you are,” he said. I wasn't trying to get his hopes up, though. I was just telling the truth: that since Grindelwald had used transfiguration rather than Polyjuice, there would've been no need to keep Mr. Graves alive.

But we went into Mr. Graves' house and according to the aurors, nothing was there that didn't originally belong to Mr. Graves. He lived a boring life, apparently, with no pets or anything.

“There are a lot of bottles of Veritaserum here,” I observed after we had checked the Masters' bedroom. The cabinets had been lined with plenty of them.

“All aurors use Veritaserum for interrogations.”

“But do they regularly bring them home, in large quantities?”

“Grindlewald probably killed him and transfigured his corpse into a rock or something.” The auror was jumping to conclusions based on absolutely nothing, and worse, writing them down in a notepad as if they were fact. As a scientist, I found this very vexing.

“You mentioned that none of you ever noticed Mr. Graves acting out of the ordinary? That he knew all of you by name, lived up to his responsibilities as Director of Magical Security and assumed the role of Percival Graves without flaw.”

“What's your point?”

“Grindelwald can't have known that unless he spent months tailing and observing Mr. Graves at close range. He didn't have weeks because he escaped from Europe fairly recently before then. Meaning he had to have had a source of information for everything regarding Mr. Graves' daily activities so that he could emulate him perfectly.”

“I can't believe we're not getting paid extra to work off-hours and listen to this nutcase,” one of the aurors said in a low voice. The others in the group laughed.

“I'm going to visit Mr. Roberts,” I told them.

In the end, it turned out that Mr. Roberts happened to be Mr. Graves who had been transfigured to look different. A simple Revelio did the trick, exposing a baffled Mr. Graves who had been obliviated to believe he was a muggle. Whenever Grindelwald needed information about his life, he would administer Veritaserum to him and then ask questions. I explained this to the aurors, who apologized to me profusely. One of them walked over to Mr. Graves, who was still sitting at his dining table and trapped with a muggle mindset, and gave him a Memory Potion. Since I had nothing else to contribute I decided to check out the more interesting details of the house.

“Where are you going, Mr. Scamander?” One of the aurors asked me as I headed out the doorway.

I didn't answer because my next activity was irrelevant to the case. Besides, Stingennae were sensitive to loud noises and the aurors were fond of talking over each other.

Outside the house I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a jar as I approached the hive. Stingennae honey was one of my favorite delicacies, so I felt fortunate that at least I had gained something from this excursion.

The Stingennae honey lasted me three days until Dougal crept into the cupboard and ate all of it.

 

* * *

 

I visited Jacob in the bakery and stopped by one of the shelves to pick out three Niffler sour doughs, making sure to choose the ones with the most accurately-shaped bills. Out of all the breads I felt Jacob's Niffler creations were the most anatomically correct. I did not like eating the Erumpent loaves because Jacob had the tendency to give them seven humps instead of six. Unfortunately I couldn't point this out as Queenie had looked at me sternly and said “Newt, don't,” so until now, Jacob had no knowledge of the fact that he was selling a defective product.

I sat down on a stool next to the counter where Jacob was counting money, and folded my arms on the surface, resting my head on them and sighing.

“What's wrong, Newt? You look down in the dumps today.”

He continued counting money while I dissected the first Niffler sour dough by peeling off its bill and putting it in my mouth. I liked that with Jacob, we could hold conversations while each doing different things; others would feel offended if you weren't paying them full attention, but not Jacob.

“Something happened at MACUSA.”

“What is it? That bastard Graves giving you trouble with permits again?”

“No, actually the opposite. He helped me. A man was harassing me.” I moved on to the Niffler sour dough paws, tearing the nub of the foreclaw.

“What'd he do? Lemme at 'em.”

“He said he needed help with a beast. I followed him to the bathroom and he showed me his penis.”

Jacob stopped counting money. He looked at me, visibly angry. I could tell because he was turning an interesting shade of purple, which only happened whenever he walked by a factory or ate food he personally deemed as 'a load of baloney'.

“That's disgusting. What kind of lowlife would do something like that?”

“People treat me differently, don't they, Jacob?” I pulled off the sour dough Niffler's tail and nibbled at it. “And it's not just because they don't understand my love for animals. I'm always going to annoy people when I talk about beasts, I know that. But some people, like this man, even the looks they give me are different. The up and down motion with their eyes. They talk loud, and say and do things that don't make sense. Sometimes, I haven't even met them, or said anything to them, and they treat me like that. Like the way that man did. Why is that?”

I was breathing heavily, surprised at myself for having said so much in one breath. The sour dough was now a mess of crumbs and mashed bread on the table.

Jacob was staring at me, open-mouthed. He tugged at his collar and swallowed before replying.

“They turn into idiots because you're attractive, Newt.”

“Ridiculous. I don't give out signs signaling that I'm seeking attraction at all.” I thought of Theseus' posturing, his winning smiles and the way he puffed up his chest and gestured a lot with his hands, like he was trying to physically pull people toward him when he spoke. Theseus loved attention, and actively sought people who were attracted to him. As much as I valued him as a blood relative, sometimes I thought of him a bit of a prat for being so concerned with being liked, and always having someone on his arm.

“You don't have to give out signs. It's not what you do, it's what you are. You're attractive and people act stupid when they're around attractive people.”

I turned to face him, not quite convinced by his lackluster reasoning. _Attractive_? It seemed, as Jacob put it, like a load of baloney. If I were attractive then people wouldn't find me annoying. “I don't understand.”

“Remember that Fwooper that you told me not to be rough with? The one with the golden-red plumage that's, like, a one in a hundred chance of happening in nature?”

“It's actually fairly common but few survive to adulthood because they're an easy target for predators. But do go on.”

Jacob nodded. I appreciated Jacob for always listening to what I said and actually acted like he was going to make use of the information in the future. “Yes, well. You also said Fwoopers with the most unique, colorful plumage are more likely to attract mates. That special Fwooper is _you_ , because you look unique in tons of ways.”

“How so?”

“Well, the red hair. Green eyes. Freckles. You're tall.”

“Many people are tall.”

“Tall and slender. Haven't you noticed you're the only guy who can get into your suitcase without any sorta trouble? And you've got sharp cheekbones and-- God, do you really want me to say it? Fine. You're very soft-looking, for a guy. Dainty, you know? You're pretty. I noticed it, Queenie noticed it, Tina especially noticed it and so do loads of people. And your lips, well. Your lips are, erm.”

It started to dawn on me what Jacob was getting at. Animals in the Fluffy class, like Nifflers, competed for mates using the size of their hoard, whereas those in the Serpentine class based their mating choices on the complexity of the burrow built by the male. But Jacob was telling me that the mating habits of humans fell under the Feathered class, meaning mate choices were mostly influenced by genetic traits rather than certain behaviors or amount of effort undertaken to prove suitable mating ability.

I recalled the Erumpent rolling in the snow and lashing out in a haze of lust when I used the musk to lure it back into the case. Meaning people tricking me were lashing out at me because they were attracted to me. A lot of things started to make sense.

“I've been told my lips are good for taking cock,” I said in agreement.

Jacob sputtered, jerking so suddenly that he almost knocked his ledger off the counter by accident. “Who, who told you this?”

“People back at school.”

“Jesus, Newt,” he said, rubbing his nape. Jacob did that whenever he was uncomfortable, such as when we discussed magical matters at length and he felt out of the loop. “I dunno why you like that Hogwash place so much. It sounds horrible.”

“It's _Hogwarts_. And it was only a few people. Never understood what they were getting at, either. If it was a joke about how much chicken I ate or something. The Great Hall rarely served poultry unless it was during special occasions and I don't recall being particularly fond of turkey, either.”

“Oh. You? ...Oh.”

We both sat in silence, and I moved on to the second Niffler. There was excess flour on the bill that I brushed off before plucking the part off with my fingers.

“Newt, they weren't talking about birds,” Jacob said in a low voice.

“Oh. Then what else could they possibly have implied?” I couldn't help but chuckle as I chewed the bread. There was no better baker in New York than Jacob, of that I was sure.

“They meant, erm, oral sex, Newt.”

“Oh.” I blinked. “Alright. So the man in the loo...”

Jacob was recounting the same stack of money for the third time. “Yeah, it was on his mind. Probably.”

I thought again of the up and down stare. The lying, the way he acted strangely and waited to absorb my reactions. The man had wanted me to pleasure him. Apparently, so did the boys at school. Based on Jacob's explanation, it was because I exhibited traits that highlighted a genetic predisposition to be able to perform oral sex skillfully.

“Would most people enjoy being pleasured by mouth in that way, Jacob?” I asked, cocking my head.

“ _Seriously_?”

I shrugged, and bit off the head of the third sour dough Niffler.

“Yeah, yeah, I can't imagine anyone who would refuse, so.” He coughed. “Look, buddy, could we talk about something else, please?”

“I have to go,” I said, popping the rest of the bread into my mouth. Pushing back the stool as I rose, I headed for the shelf again and gathered a dozen dinner rolls, stuffing them into my pockets. At this point, Jacob's assistant had returned from the back.

“Is he ever gonna pay for those?” The boy asked, but Jacob shushed him. The bell above the doorway chimed as I left the store and I set off for Woolworth again, a plan already having formed in my head.

 

* * *

 

I turned the knob. The door was locked but I could hear Graves talking inside. He was probably conducting a meeting, but this would be quick and I wanted it to be done as soon as possible because the Mooncalves were getting hungry. So I let Pickett out of my coat pocket and in forty-three seconds he succeeded in unlocking the door. It wasn't as good as his fastest record (thirty-three seconds) but it's not like I had told him to hurry up, so I pet him and put him back in my pocket with a “Good job, Pickett” and he seemed content.

I opened the door and sure enough, Graves was standing in front of his desk and lecturing a group of aurors-in-training who were seated before him. He was discussing a memo sent out by Madame President, and his audience seemed sleepy, meaning it must not have been important.

I walked toward him while he kept talking (“...And that is why your jackets have a wand pocket hidden in the inner lining...”). He was looking at me as I got closer. Normally, you're supposed to warn someone in advance (or at least hint at it) before you do something that involves them, but based on my experience, it's easier to surprise your target and then explain yourself afterward.

For example: injecting an injured beast such as a Nundu should be done by hiding the syringe behind your back, then leaping for their necks and emptying it subcutaneously into the skin fold of their nape. This deceitful move is necessary because if they see you approaching with a syringe, they will kill you. And if you take too long injecting, then they'll feel the sting of the needle and they will kill you twice over. A lot of beasts don't understand that a) sometimes a little pain is required in order to feel better in the long run, and b) surprising them negates any resistance allowing for a smoother process overall.

I was currently implementing point B on Mr. Graves. I knelt down in front of him and started unbuckling his belt. He stopped talking to the aurors and jerked away from me, but as an animal expert I'm skilled at getting in and out of binds, so his belt was already loose by the time he realized what I was doing.

I was in the middle of pulling down the zipper of his trousers when he grabbed my wrist and said “What the _fuck_ , Newton?” So with my free hand I unbuttoned the top of his pants. But he grabbed that too and pushed me away from him, hard, and I fell back against the carpet.

“Can't you see I'm trying to thank you?” I said, irritated. Mr. Graves glanced at the aurors-in-training and said “Get out.” Their eyes were large as they looked at me, slowly getting to their feet. Odd looks I was quite used to so I just ignored them. When the last girl (who wore a pendant with an impossibly-colored Puckwudgie on it) closed the door behind her I felt more at ease, so I turned back and tried to get to Mr. Graves' penis again.

He grabbed my hands once more and said “Newton, _stop that at once and explain yourself_.” He was using the same volume and tone of voice as I often overheard him use whenever his secretary spilled his coffee, which even I hadn't expected. Had I made a mistake? I stood up and faced him, confused and quite frankly a little frightened that he was upset by my attempted show of gratitude.

“Please just let me get on with it so I can go to my case and feed my Mooncalves.”

“What are you trying to do?”

“Perform oral sex so that I won't owe you anything. We'll be even then.” I had honestly expected Mr. Graves to be smarter than this. Aurors were supposed to be skilled detectives who were specifically trained to recognize patterns at a faster pace than the average civilian. But I figured that perhaps Mr. Graves was still recovering from the constant Obliviations so it was understandable for him to be a little slow.

“Even?”

“You helped me when that man was bothering me,” I said slowly and carefully to abate his confusion. “I was going to suck your penis in exchange for your assistance back there.”

“You... You don't need to do that,” he said. He pressed his hand to his face. It looked like he was stroking his eyebrows and coaxing them together. “Really.”

“What then can I do?” I asked, annoyed.

“You don't need to do _anything_ , Newton. A 'thank you' is enough.”

“I said I owe you one. I can't take that back so please just tell me what I can do in exchange.”

Silence filled the room and there was nothing out of the ordinary about Mr. Graves' nondescript office so I looked instead at his open trousers, which were exposing black undergarments. He noticed my gaze and suddenly buttoned his pants and buckled his belt.

“Why don't you come over and de-Gnome my backyard?”

Gnomes! Finally, Mr. Graves had said something exciting. I'd never met American Gnomes before, and it would be fun noting the difference between them and European Gnomes. No doubt their accents would be something else.

“I haven't been able to maintain it since I...” He paused. “...Returned... And I don't think anyone did while I was gone, so how about it?”

I smiled, already thinking about all the variables I could note down, comparing different Gnome subspecies. “Alright, then. Can I come over tomorrow? At 7:00 AM? European Gnomes are crepuscular and since I don't know much about American Gnomes I will have to assume that they are too until proven otherwise. Yes?”

“Alright,” Mr. Graves said, rubbing his neck.

“See you tomorrow, then,” I said cheerfully. Since the plan to suck his penis had just been aborted, I undid some of my prior actions by reaching forward and zipping up his trousers. He made a sound like a Demiguise coughing up a hairball. I then left his office and headed to the Goldsteins' so I could feed the Mooncalves.

I was already late, and they would be all the more cross waiting for me to cut Jacob's dinner rolls into smaller pieces suitable for their gullets. Mooncalves had long necks, making it impossible for them to vomit; therefore, any piece of food with a surface area of more than 0.25 square inches was considered a choking hazard.

But Jacob's dinner rolls were delicious and they would enjoy those, and tomorrow I would enjoy de-Gnoming Mr. Graves' garden.


End file.
